RWBY: Runners
by Colbean
Summary: Runners wanted! From Vale to Vacuo in 8 days or less! Wanted: Younge, quick on your feet fellas needed. Must be willing to tempt death daily. Orphans preferred. Apply, Vale Southern Checkpoint. Ask for Klay
1. Prologue

The brutal breaking of branches as they chased after him. He was a simple looking man, His brow thick and tightly pulled across his face. His eyes were a deep grey, speckled with blue, they had a welcoming feel that has been twisted with time. His face was panicked now, shifting from side to side as he pulled himself through the brush. Past trees, ducking under branches, limbs snapping as he pushed passed them. Stumbling passed overgrown roots, hidden by the first signs of fall. The roots bending and twisting amongst each other. His feet carrying him as quickly as they could. Over his shoulder was the straps of a duffle bag and a small backpack. The duffle bag was pulled under his arm and held against his chest, his free hand buried into its contents.

Working his way into a small clearing, he stooped low for a moment, shrugging the backpack off and quickly emptying its contents into the duffle bag. Leaving the backpack there. Crossing the clearing, hiding behind the trunk of a tree. Its branches loomed over the opening. The leaves were falling. The quiet pluck as the branches let go of the leaves. He pressed his back against the tree for a moment, reaching into the duffle. Pulling out gingerly, balancing three crudely large stones, in the palm of his hands. The two smaller stones looked as if they use to be one, the jagged edge where they broke from each other shone a whitish blue, the blue that you would find at the first icing of a lake. The man cursed at himself quietly before allowing his hand to roll the third stone. It was a dim yellow that seemed to grow in intensity as you were to look at it. Pulling his eyes away as he heard something louder than a tree shedding its leaves. and leaning around the tree.

The leaves in the trees were peculiar. The aging of fall in this area worked in from the edges or any cuts or holes made from caterpillars and other insects. The greens, yellows, and reds seemed to come and go in waves.

His mind pulled away as a shadow crept closer to a tree. The dark tan uniform of a police officer did not serve all that well to hide him.

'Well he isn't the one hiding' the man thought chuckling slightly.

The officer turned and yelled, calling more towards him. Cursing to himself again, but silently this time he watched as the officer drew his pistol, leaning into the clearing as he began to scan, left to right, right to left. Stepping closer and closer to the bag. He was skinny, sweat worked from under the bangs of his hair. He wiped them away before pulling his hair back and to the side. His hand was shaking, he was nervous, the tan uniform seemed to darker around his collar, wet with sweat, as well where his armpits and down the side of his shirt. His stretched out, his foot touching the bag before he dug his toe into the fabric of the bag rolling it over, rolling it over. A branch broke, he snapped back up, his heavy breathing catching in his throat, the cold sweat on his skin crawling further.

"Son'ova-" the police officer trailed off "You scared the hell out of me Chief-Yeah here-" He bent over and picked up the bag, as he stood back up. The large officer stepped into the opening, His uniform was wrinkled and creased from movement. The Tan faded from years of use, along his belt hung a hatchet, what was exposed of the head was intricately etched before slipping into a red leather sheath, hiding the bit and cheek of the ax head. A small loop of leather extended around the shoulder of the hatchet. His left hand resting on it. On the breast of his uniform, a black stitched patch read 'Klay'.

Stepping to the side, Her uniform was crisp and new, her hair in a high ponytail. A few hairs were pinned back. An orange ribbon was pinned to her collar, she was on edge. Her pistol was already in her hand. Making their way towards the nervous officer, his pistol slide into his holster with a quiet click as the gun found the groves that caught it.

'Now' he thought. Stepping out from behind the tree. Pulling his hand up holding the stones. A beat passed, turning to see him. The young officer pulling her gun to the square.

The thunder rolled from one end of the sky, the earth rumbling around them, the trees seemed to become frightened as the wind began to build, The dirt began to grow cold, tightening and bracing against it. The only sound was of the wind, pressing against the branches, creaking and cracking from the strain. The shadows around the clearing began to stretch out towards them.

The small shacks scattered around the opening made from small sheets of perforated metal, covered with branches, corners, and seams were thickly caked with a cooked mud and grass mixture. Between more sturdy buildings there were crude canvases, stitched from a mixture of materials, stretched tight. The larger shacks were built with sheet metal, leaned against poles positioned inside of the structures, smothered smoke could be seen making its way out of the angled roofs.

"Towards the Center!" An authoritative voice called out. Cutting through the air. It was urgent but practiced to be strong and reliable. He looked out over the trees, fog, thick fog was beginning to form at the far end of their clearing. The sky which a moment before was blue and stripped with thin clouds was now blotted with a deep gray. It continued to grow and stretch out claiming the openness as its own.

"Where is Soro?" There was urgency in this familiar phrase. The fog began to envelop them and the surrounding camp. The straining of tree branches became louder, smaller branches began to snap and from the sound, never hit the ground as they were swept away by the wind. Creaks of metal and the straining of walls against the wind began to grow louder. He yelled the name again as his eyes began to scan across the group accumulating around him. The wind picked up violently for a moment, forcing the large man to turn his back to the wind. There were hollow yells as a few of the weaker structures began to tremble from the wind. A piece of sheet metal being used as a roof, began to be lifted off the small house, a lantern that had been fitted to the bottom, dangling. A creak and it was ripped away from the house, the lantern crashing into the next shack, a smaller more naturally made shack. The bundled leaves and twigs igniting with the crash. A moment passed before the flames began to creep up towards the metal roof.

"Go!" was all he needed to say, as he turned to look back at a few of those who had gathered near him, Arsen and his younger brother Thilo. They were reverent brothers, loyal and easy to work with. They quickly got up, tightening the straps of small bags as they ran to the house. Arsen wrapping a small rag around his hand as they ran. Grabbing at the metal and pulling. The father, new to the caravan, pushed against the metal, wedging it open enough to push his daughter through. Collapsing into the dirt, quickly getting to her feet, dirt, grass, and hair matted against her cheek as tears began to come. Her father yelling and motioning towards the group, before using both hands to push on the metal, pulling his hands away before pushing his shoulder against it, rotating to his back. The metal bent before it was pulled away. The father climbing past it with the help of Arsen and Thilo. His shirt pocketed with burns and singes. Quickly working their way back to the group, the father picking up his daughter who didn't move more than ten feet from the spot she fell, clumps of mud and blood falling to the ground as the father brushes it away.

The fog shifted, the eye of the storm formed quickly and was moving towards them. The dense fog around them began to fade into a perfect clearing like it was before.

They began to group up, no one had more than an armful. A few patchwork bags, and sacks carrying belongings. There were weapons, but only a few, half a dozen swords, a bow here and there for those tasked to hunt for meat, and a rare rifle and pistol in the hands of others. How they came to possess them was always good gossip amongst the group.

"Soro!" He yelled out again, this time having seen him emerging from a tent as he was fighting to keep it on the ground, after a moment the wind began to die down again, he reached in for a shirt quickly getting it on before reaching in again. Pulling out a rifle scabbard, a semi cone-shaped piece of tanned leather, there were two buckled straps along it, the butt of a rifle exposed at the end. He pulled this over his head, the scabbard hanging across his back. Stepping to take a look at his surroundings, his arm reaching, pulling out the rifle, the barrel was shorter than the average, a small tube extending the length of the barrel until reaching the lever action. The wind picked up catching Soro off balance, forcing him to take a few side steps. Leaning into the wind he actions the lever of his rifle, glancing back towards the tent he left to see it begin to fight against the wind again. Working his way towards the group, the black clouds twisting around them.

"Tell me, Huntsman." There was vile in his mouth, no respect behind his word. "Have you seen something like this in your travels before?" Calmness was forced on his words, all around him there was hysteria. The loudest came from three small children. Ara, Paden and Luke, the trio always caused trouble, but all cried as soon as they had been caught.

'Calm, I have to stay calm, panic would break them' He thought to look around. 'It would break who was left.'

"No, Jaxon, I haven't."

"Do you think this is the raiders doing-Did they double back?"

Soro looked at the wall of clouds around them, taking a step from the crowd he twists and actions his rifle again, leaving the action open, an unspent bullet ejects into the air and is caught by the same hand that actioned the lever. He reaches behind him, muscle memory, the spot right at your back dips towards your spine. His hand grabs nothing as he looks back towards the tent he left, it was gone. "Shit-" He mumbled as he started walking back towards it.

"Here!" Lina called out, a quieter girl that never seemed to be found in her own tent. She held out a belt, long ways across the belt were bullets weaved into the leather each one having a slight color to them. Soro went to put on the belt, the wind picking up again stopped him as he slung it over his shoulder. Glancing at it he pulled a bullet from one of the sleeves, it had a white sheen to it as he placed it in the open action and closed the action.

Shouldering the rifle he lazily looked down the sights.

'No chance to miss.'

His finger squeezed, the rifle kicked, his shoulder rocking. A faint white tracer burned after the bullet, the glow quickly disappearing into the fog. The wind around them seemed to get pulled towards the end of his rifle and following the path of the bullet, the wind punctured the wall of fog, a clean tunnel forming for a moment, as the fog quickly began to fill the hole as Soro focused following the path of his shot. Lightning seemed to crackle all around them. "No-" Soro Muttered as he looked at Jaxson.

It no longer mattered what a piece of trash Soro had been before this moment. Offering his 'protection', abusing the title of huntsman, muscling William the trapper out of some of his furs, Not caring about the woman he would take to his tent or what relationship she had. He was strong though, and a crack shot. He could hit a target on a whim and with any rifle he touched, and that's what they needed right now more than anything.

"Together!" Jaxson yelled, waving a few stragglers over to them, some had cuts, others burns. 'Those things must have stalked after the bandits.'

He worked the lever again. His rifle trained on the wall as he looked around, the fog seemed to be moving. If it wasn't grim related, they probably aren't far off. They seemed to hang close to traveling groups like themselves, like any predator, waiting for a weakling to trail too far from the group, the grim was a different threat altogether. They were the staple of death, draped in a deep black, dotted with thick white plates of armor and accented with blood red. Auraless, soulless beasts, they were killers, and nothing more.

Lightning struck again, the clouds around them illuminated, shadows from trees danced around them. The strong wind beginning to build again, the remaining shacks began to disappear with a loud clatter. A distant clang as the metal gets thrown against a tree or rock. The tents followed soon after the majority of them taking their bent stakes with them. The shadows danced again from another lightning strike, the wall of fog and clouds was moving around them.

The crack of a rifle caused the inattentive to scare. They watched Soro action the lever again the casing landing in the downtrodden grass, smoking from the heat. They looked to where he shot. There was a thud and black ash began to spiral into the clouded walls. A panicked shot rang out, a revolver, two, three shots as William the Trapper walked with his arm out backing the Ashford family towards the center. They quickly dispersed amongst the crowd. They were a closed mouth family, always found helping those around them, but never someone else with their name.

A roaring of pain could be heard past the smokey walls. Soro turns to fire through the crowd, People ducked down, holding their ears, a bit too late as the ring from the rifle still held strong. Soro moved towards the middle, hot casings shooting out of the action, landing on people causing small hisses of pain as the casings burned them, yelps of pain rang out from grim as they fell around them, some falling into the opening before they began to turn to ash in the air.

A shadow swings into the opening, its large paw catching William in the side, throwing him across the ground and out of the opening, the shadow moving between him and the group, two arrows hit the Grim's back as William yelled, three shots rang out from his pistol, the bullets whizzing past the crowd. His yells were quickly silenced as the Grim swung down at him. A scream rang out as Lina rolled onto her side. Holding at her chest as blood began to seep from under her hand. A bullet wound.

The Grim's growls grew more aggressive, as the screams and cries became more desperate. They seemed to feed off the death and misery, causing them to grow bolder as more and more pushed past the fog. The breaking of metal as the Beowulf caught swords in their jaws, the kicking and screaming, before growing silent out of view, men, women, and children were dragged out of circle without discrimination. The Ashford family was gone, Lina laying alone, motionless. Ara, Paden, and Luke close enough to one another that it was apparent they the three bodies were once friends.

Soro, Arsen, Aerori, a smaller girl who had stuck close to Jaxson, her hands trembling, her eyes no longer letting tears flow, and Jaxson, holding a scrap of crude metal, his chest seeping blood. The wind picked up again, violently cold this time, the wind became visible as Ice began to mix into the wind. The ice cut at their skin. It began to build upon the grim, quickly bringing their movement to a halt. Soro actions his rifle, leaving the chamber open as he pulled a bullet from his belt loops, a second green tinted shell. Placing it in the chamber, his finger remaining inside to hold down the next bullet as he began to slightly action the rifle, then completely closing it. The air grew stagnant, seeming to stop on a whim. The grim that was trapped, swaying before falling, shattering. The clouds began to dissipate. The grim were gone, the ice melting, the aftermath, the evidence that there was a grim attack, obvious.

He wasn't tall. Everything about him was heavy, his walk, his presence. "The grim was just a bonus. What I was curious about was the storm, so elegant, destructive, a near masterpiece of mother nature's wrath." Soro trailed his rifle on him, flicking to the side as Police officers broke into the opening trailing their rifles and handguns on the man. Some officers were covered in blood, some beaten and bruised. The man got louder his hand burying itself into the bag deeper now. "How often do we get to see what Dust can do in its raw form?!" He looks at Soro, a simple smirk lead his features. "Never." He spat. "Man has forgotten its strength." His hand slowly pulled from the bag another large gem, a glint of blue and white gripped in his fist. "The reason we weren't simply destroyed by the grim, we perverted it, used it to build weapons, power vehicles, we funneled its power." There was nothing sinister about the man, but he screamed determination and desperation. He looked to Soro and then to the officers. "You've all grown too dependent of your weapon-" His fist clenched down onto the dust, his body seemed to shimmer for a moment, the reaction was instant.

There was a hollow thud as Arsen was thrown against a tree, held for a moment by the wind before falling motionless. Being thrown across the ground Jaxson face down in the dirt as he began to slowly push himself up after the wind died down, His leg giving out under him as he noticed the large piece of ice protruding from the back of his thigh. Soro was the first to his feet, his scabbard crooked across his back, his belt, gone. His rifle, gone. Glancing back, he positions himself between the man, Jaxson, and Aerori.

Soro's rifle was no longer in his hand.

Looking down at his feet there was a simple rifle, the hoop for the lever action large, used with gloves. The butt of the rifle had small burns all along it, forming an intricate and well planned out design.

Soro reached for his belt, glancing around to see a few of the officers motionless against tree trunks. Some of them beginning to stir again. pulling one of the white traced bullets from its sheath. Bringing it up to his mouth and letting his teeth rest around it. 'Just buy them time.' he thought before biting down on the dust. Another burst of wind shot out as it was activated, uncontrolled as the two currents of wind seemed to collapse on themselves, violently throwing debris around, bodies were dragged a few feet following the flow of wind. Rori closed her eyes, gripping onto the shirt of Jaxson, holding steady as she felt them get dragged before she couldn't hold on any longer, rolling limply until she came to a stop.

Rori looked up from the dirt, Jaxson was in front of her but laying on his stomach. Something was wrong with him. She stayed low for a moment her hands adjusting to push her up off the ground, her hand brushing against hot metal. Soro's rifle. She looked for Soro. He was in the middle. Twisted.

The man was laughing. Laughing like he was right all along. Like he had won an argument that took a lifetime to prove. A large but younger looking officer made his way into the clearing, setting down a wounded woman, her dark brown hair, glinted with green rested against a tree.

"Klay, don't you see, he tried to use it, without a vice, without the restraints of man, and look. He couldn't save anyone-"

"This is it James-" Klay said holding his hands out to his sides, he didn't have a pistol at his holster, but what looked like a hand ax. "You've run, deceived and swindled all of those people out of their money and dust, all with some made up beliefs."

James could be seen getting mad and his hand reached into his bag again, in the same motion Klay's hand gripped around his hand ax.

Shouldering the rifle, her finger pressed the trigger. Her body starting to flinch before the rifle goes off, it kicking back against her shoulder sending her back down into a sitting position, the rifle falling into the dirt next to her. Her ears rung, her shoulder ached as she worked back to her feet. After hesitating, she picked up the rifle again, gripping the lever with her whole hand she actioned it, flinching back slightly as the casing was ejected. Closing the action and looking up in Soro's direction again.

The officer was on him, Klay. His hands effortlessly rolled the man onto his stomach, his hand working to the back of his belt, a pair of handcuffs. He fumbled for a moment before realizing what had happened to the stout man. Pulling his right arm back he took a moment to position himself, bending his leg up and letting the cuff clasp around the ankle and the other around his hand.

"Trauma Kit!"

He rolled the man onto his side. His right sleeve soaked red.


	2. Chapter 1

Runners

Vale to Vacuo in 8 days or less.

Wanted

Younge, Quick on your feet fellas needed.

Not over 21. Must be Expertly coordinated.

Must be willing to tempt death daily.

Orphans preferred.

Apply Vale Southern Checkpoint. Ask for Klay.

Rori stole a glance at the paper again, it was slightly crumpled from when she had pulled it from the wall. At the top of the paper, a silhouette, a person in a full sprint, wearing a backpack, dust crystals and an envelope etched into the backpack. Below the drawing.

Rori folded the paper back up, it bent along creases and folded up hectically. Looking up over the buildings the snow-capped mountains to her left, they followed the city north until twisting left to the ocean. Simply looking at them seemed to give her the chills, they were huge and could be seen from anywhere in Vale, and from the nearby towns. Along the west side of the city there was water, warm and welcoming, and leaving their half bowl to the south opened up to a prairie, further south a thick forest where the shadows moved with their own will, beckoning those further in, A river split the forest, being fed from a the same mountain range that cupped around Vale. Further west, the climate began to grow humid and warm again. The trees shrink to sage and small bushes scarcely plotting along the rolling hills that lead to Vacuo, The earth turns dry and coarse as the walls of Vacuo come into view. Vacuo was known for their hard working dust mines, and in contrast the relaxed lifestyle of those who live there.

Walking her way south Rori recalled some of the small towns that her troop camped outside of, small towns dotted the continent, some would thrive on travelers and help those making the trip from Vacuo to Vale. Others would help troops and caravans with supplies while they looked for places to establish themselves, while others would turn to dust under foot. Their ruins quickly overtaken by overgrowth and reclaimed by mother nature.

Thinking about her Troop, their collective dream of setting up at the most northern point of the continent of Sanus, with hopes to extend to the small cluster of islands further north. In a week, Rori was walking back to Vale, with a blood stained hand, and a rifle to big her her back, causing her calf to hit the end of the barrel when she took to big of steps.

The rifle grew heavier on Rori's back, she rolled her shoulder and lifted the strap for a moment before letting it rest back on her shoulder.

"That was almost 10 years ago." Rori thought to herself as she turned the corner, The Southern Checkpoint was positioned a good walk away from the wall and the actual opening. There was not much movement in and out of the gate anyways. Pushing open the door there was a small crowd of younger people, a mix of street cheats and panhandlers. None of them looked healthy enough to do anything. Rori looked down at herself, she wasn't the healthiest looking one either, but looking back up she noticed she was only one of a few other girls there. The majority being guys, some tall and wide. Others sticks that probably could never put weight on to begin with.

A plump woman stucker her head around one of the boys after the methodical clang of the door shutting.

"Are you here to see Klay?" She asked, she seemed overjoyed to see another person. Rori gave a nod as the lady seemed to add another mark to a paper she had with her. She went on to ask loudly if there was anyone she didn't count. There were a few people alone here and there, but other than that most of the kids stuck to their groups, talking.

"You look just as out of place as I do." Rori looked to the voice, along with a wall to her left there were a row of chairs, a few still open and the ones filled were filled with people who came alone. The girl was smiling up at Rori, her messy white hair teasing out from her face while others swept down and across it, The light color hair made her eyes pop. They were two amethysts, gleaming with optimism. She was wearing a black shirt with a collar, the collar bent to a v and meet at a thin piece of metal that extended down till it split again towards the bottom. The sleeves ending at her bicep, folded up and held in place by black leather belts with silver fasteners. Directly below the sleeve around her biceps was a metal band, it was overly complex in the way the metal bent and twisted around her bicep, and a second one mirrored the first on her other arm. The rest of her arms were bare including her hands, in her lap, there was a pair of large black leather gloves that flared out slightly when passing the wrist. She seemed to have a half apron on, it was held to her by a belt that on the right side was split in two directions, one strap coming from over her hip, the other strap coming from under, linking up and working around before splitting again. The half apron had two small pockets, and on the belt, there were loops that were ready to catch a pistol or something similar. Her dark pants extended past the apron and down to be caught in large boots in a similar style to her cloves but were doubled over to form a cuff.

"I'd say you do more then me." Rori replied. She looked like she belonged in the steel mill, or anywhere on the manufacturing block, even there she would look out of place. She was the same size as Rori, or at least looked it sitting down.

"The happy lady said it will be a while until Klay shows up." She said looking up at Rori "So you might as well sit down." Rori chuckled a 'Thanks' as she pulled the scabbard over her shoulder, holding the strap in her hand as she sat down.

"Could I have a peek?" Rori, about to lean it against the walls between them pulled it up and set it across both of their laps, explaining where the opening was the girl slide the zipper down, and opening up the scabbard. Her eyes seemed to grown in size as she looked at the rifle.

Rori didn't mind showing off the rifle, It was never hers to begin with. With time it grew comfortable in her hands but at the same time, it was a reminder.

"Oh, a lever action Scrivner, do you know what model it is? Here it is, Oh, a custom made Scrivner, and then two small tallies after it. This is a really nice rifle, it has a lot of little weird marks and grooves on it though. The action is well worked and oiled, a big looped lever for gloves, iron sights, with a collapsible ladder and tang sight."

Rori began to get concerned that the girl was going to take apart the rifle then and there. She had found the little slide opening up the tubular magazine and continued to tinker and twist at it. Glancing up and looking around. Everyone here had a weapon of some sorts, lots of knives and shorter swords, different shapes and sizes. Pistols were also holstered in a number of places, behind the back, but their shirt tucked behind it to show it off, on their hip, one of the larger guys amassed by a group had a revolver hanging around his neck by a chain linking through the finger guard. Rumors of war, riots between small groups of settlers on the eastern coast seemed to be a common discussion, but deep down it seemed like the gears of war were slowly starting to turn, and the businesses knew this.

Rori heard an odd click and looked over to the girl, she had gripped the lever action while the rifle was lying down on its side and had pulled up on it, after a twist The lever extended just enough for it to clear the stock of the rifle and then came off.

"Wha-What are you doing!? Give me that, how did you? Just push it back into place. It, well the lever still works, what were you doing?" Taking the lever from the girls hands she positioned the small hole back onto the receiving peg. Pushing down the click repeated. "You'll need this-" The girl said with a smile holding out the bolt that kept it in place. Taking it and tightening it back in place as she stood the rifle up on her knee, actioning the lever.

The slamming of a door came from across the room. "To tall. No. No, come back when you have lost some weight. How old are you again? No, You can stay. Yes, No. Too tall, too wide, to-" He paused "to many muscles-" He took a drag of his cigar, the end of the cigar had a strange red glow to it that was unlike normal burning embers. "You three stay," He said as he exhaled, the smoke kept the strange red hue the cigar had. Turning to the some of the people sitting down. "You two stay, Stand up, no, you can leave, No- I know your father, he wouldn't want this, go home." He continued like this for a while, working his way through the crowds of people. Some answers were instant, some he took a moment to examine them, or pulled his cigar to his mouth again before puffing the answer before going onto the next person. After passing through the crowd a second time, checking to see if he missed anyone. Moving his way to the front of the room, "If I said no to you, see to the door, make sure Miss Beek counts you on your way out. Please."

His please seemed rehearsed more than it did genuine, as if he had done this a few times already. A good majority of the people began to move towards the door, a couple that Rori had looked over stayed, including the larger boy with the revolver necklace.

Klay, reached over the desk that had a very simple plaque reading Miss Beek, before it was a smaller novelty plaque reading 'The Best'. After a moment Klay rights up holding a notebook, a pen clipped to the front cover, opening it, and looking around the room at some of the defiant faces. His eyes stopped on the revolver, then looking into the eyes of the boy, his face was brutal. His nose crooked in two places and the rest of his features were puffed from the fights he was probably causing.

"Tain Kadmoss" Klay said looking up from the notebook. The name didn't come from the pages. He knew the name.

The boy's eyes seemed to widen for a moment, realizing. "This is not a job for wanna be thugs who are looking to make money, With a juvenile record like yours, you wouldn't last a week. Offences going as far back as when you were 8, stealing candies, obsessively." Klay stopped and turned away from Tan, now speaking to the people who refused to leave and those who had been allowed to stay. "We work alongside the police, so, if you have a previous criminal record, or warrant, this will not be a job for you, it will quickly turn into mandatory community service. In where you may die, but most importantly, I won't have to pay you." This stirred up even those that were allowed to stay.

"Miss. Beek will hand out a small paper I'd like the remainder of you to fill out." He paused and took a moment, then with a sarcastic head nod and a hand motion to Miss Beek, she gave a happy bounce and moved to begin handing out papers and pens to write with, as Klay made his way past the desk and down the small hallway towards other sets of doors he gave the small 'The Best' plaque a touch.

As soon as she could feel it was okay to start talking again she turned towards Rori. "I wasn't trying to hurt your rifle, or break it or anything. I was just curious how you would go about cleaning it is all." There was a pause, Rori was more focused on Miss Beek handing them papers. Vi continued to ramble, trying to mend her mistake. "It's yours and I get that, I just- I like guns and all-just weapons- gadgets and what not,- and with rifles like yours, you undo that little bolt, slide the lever out- then If it's like any other, pull the hammer down a bit further, slide the bolt out and-" Vi continued to explain and chatter while Rori watched her. It was amazing, she just kept talking. It's like a nervous panic, but with the confidence in the subject, but no filter on what things were over complex or unneeded, and Rori's silence just kept feeding the fire.

Rori took a moment to finished writing out her name on the paper, having scribbled across the bottom of the paper getting the ink to move again. "Vi" Rori looking at Vi. "Don't worry about it. You're fine."

A weight seems to be lifted off Vi's conscience. "Oh, thank you, I, I didn't mean any harm by it."

"You are fine-" Rori said again, feeling like Vi was going to set off again if she didn't say anything. Vi seemed satisfied with the answer as she began filling out her own paper. Glancing back to it Rori skipped over a large majority of the sections, Parent or Guardian, blank. Address, blank, Age, 20. Height, 5'1". Weight. Rori hesitated for a moment, glimpsing at Vi's sheet, she listed her self as 23, 5'4" and 130 pounds. Pulling back to her paper Rori, wrote down 120, feeling it was a solid guess.

By now Miss Beek had taken a few trips holding papers back to where Klay's office was positioned. Klay in turn had called in a few of the remaining people into his office, closing the door behind them and a minute or so later, walking out with them. Handing the paper over to Miss Beek, who was now seated at her desk, before calling out a new name. Vi had taken both their papers, and a few others from people sitting near them and turned them in, before she would make back to her chair the small stack of papers were handed to Klay who read off the first name "Vi

Walking out. "Girl with the rifle."

The door shut behind her, Klay turned around leaning against the edge of his desk. His room had a smell of smoke, but there was a weird tang to the taste in the air, before rori could think on it longer Klay spoke up, looking up from his paper.

"Orphan?"~"Parents died when I was younger." He nodded. "Want the job?"

The question came as a surprise, Rori expected more questions, how they died, and so on. She took a moment and nodded in return. "I only need one thing from you then, read this." He said handing her a second paper, an oath. "If you accept it, write your name there and read it out loud back to me."

Rori took her time, before starting. "I Aerori Pallas, do hereby swear, before you, that during my engagement, and while I am employed as a Runner, I will, under no circumstances, use profane language, that I will drink no intoxicating drinks, that I will not quarrel or fight with any other of my fellow runners, and that in every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties, and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence of my employer, so help me."

Klay watched her, his lips taught as he listened to the silence. "Through that door." Inhaling sharply as she found herself outside, a court yard where a group of about ten other people were a mix of sitting down, standing and leaning against the posts that boarded the small courtyard in the middle. Making her way over to them she sat down a seat away from everyone else, reading over the paper again.

Her eyes didn't really focus on anything. Thoughts began to work their way back to her. Memories, the hushed whispers of people that had the misfortune of crossing her path or working next to her for the week or two she was allowed to work there. Each time was the same.

The crack of the radio as it pulls away from a commercial of pumpkin pete's and back to the studio. His voice was smooth and crisp, articulated and easy to understand. His calm collect voice.

"Welcome back to 104.5, I'm your host Al Arstice, and a quick update on that Grim encounter right outside of MillStone. For those of you that weren't with us before the break. There was an grim attack near MillStone, three lumberjacks were involved in the attack. One was severely injured, but the lumberjacks were able to make their way into a tree using their tree spurs." Al's voice took a pause as you could feel him look away from a paper. "Those are spikes strapped on the inside of their boots that allow them to climb up trees." His voice went back from free flow talking, to articulated reading. "The third Lumberjack after securing his friend he was able to slip away and get help." His voice became more positive and had a warm feel to it as he continued. "The update on the story has been that the pair that stayed in the forest have been recovered thanks to the Help of Huntsman Prodigy, Lycus Renson at the young age of sixteen-"~"Sixteen-Huh?" The voice cut over the quiet radio, Her voice mimicked the sound of her spoon scraping against the bumpy metal of the cast iron pot. "And you stray?"

Rori no longer flinched at that word.

"Fifteen"~"And not a single accomplishment to your name." She was crude, and tended to work alone so she was never curbed, always accommodated.

"Could I see your rifle again?"


End file.
